


Gender Fuckery

by LuminousCorruption



Category: Political RPF - UK 21st c.
Genre: Biting, Dom/sub, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Kink Meme, M/M, Roleplay, Slash, Spanking, Ties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousCorruption/pseuds/LuminousCorruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two girls role-play sex between Peter Mandelson and George Osborne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gender Fuckery

I looked up, and felt my heart quicken. The tailored jacket clung to her waist, black and crisp against the white shirt. Her hair was all wrong of course; she looked nothing like Peter Mandelson. Then again, I looked nothing like George Osborne. I shifted nervously in my seat behind the desk and rotated a cufflink. She locked the door, and I swallowed hard, then stood.

“What are you doing here, Peter?” My voice was dry and cracking, but at least I had remembered the script.  
“Come now, George,” she smiled, and I nearly whimpered. She sounded so calm and self assured. The way she moved towards me was predatory.  
“Can’t I visit you, my dear? After all, we see each other so rarely these days…” I scrabbled desperately for something to say. Already my chest was rising and falling hard.

“I’m at work, Peter.” I mumbled, trying to sound stern as she moved around the edge of the desk until she stood behind me

. She towered over me under normal circumstances (not ideal considering our roles, but something that would make my submission all the sweeter), but sitting as I was, I had to crane my head backwards to make eye contact, exposing my neck to her. She leaned forward and kissed me. One hand tangled in my thick curls, pulling my head back even further with a painful tug. Her teeth scraped over my lower lip and she sucked on my tongue while I whimpered in pain. When she pulled back, she kissed down my neck, hot and wet against my skin.

“Oh?” She breathed. “You don’t want it?” The hand that had been resting on my neck trailed down, pushing under the jacket and rubbing the folds of my shirt against my left nipple. I gasped as my entire body tingled and heat pooled between my legs. My nipple hardened, my chest heaved and my legs parted in the seat. I could feel her smirking against my neck. “Your body says otherwise.” So that was why she had told me not to wear a bra.

And then I was being pulled from my seat, spun around and the backs of my thighs hit the desk. Dimly, I registered the sound of the chair hitting a wall. But I couldn’t think about that for too long when she was inches away from being pressed against me, a knee insinuating itself between my thighs. The angle was wrong, but if I had tried I could have ground myself against her hip, pushing myself off the desk and feeling the burn in my arms grow as the burning between my legs did the same. She might have let me, too. But I didn’t want to ruin what we had planned. Besides, the idea of getting off against her, crying out while she stood still, composed and controlled… It was humiliating.

When I looked up, she had an eyebrow raised. Her smile was small, knowing, and not altogether kind.  
“Not going to rut against my leg like a desperate whore, then? I’m impressed, George.” I flushed and squirmed under her gaze, burying my face into the cool whiteness of her shirt. My cheeks felt tight and my arms curled around her, fingers grasping at the back of her jacket. I stayed there for several moments, inhaling the fresh scent of the cotton shirt, enjoying the softness against my forehead. Then, gently, I was prised from her chest, and my head was cradled between her hands. One tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then trailed down the side of my face to stroke my cheek.

“Come now, my dear.” She murmured, leaning in to kiss me again. It was so much sweeter than before, and my grip on her became slack as the softness of her lips teased over mine. Her hands stroked my face and side, resting on my waist while her lips meandered down my neck, planting tender, ephemeral kisses on my collarbones and jaw. She kept the kiss gentle for so long, our mouths joining, pulling away and then coming together again so softly so many times that I was completely unprepared when she went from nuzzling the hollow of my neck to sinking her teeth into my skin. I yelped as she sucked brutally on the junction between neck and shoulder, the tender flesh being pulled into her mouth as blood rushed to the surface. I pushed against her shoulders.

“Peter, you can’t leave marks!” I exclaimed, trying fruitlessly to push her off. The anxiety was real. Some bruises and scrapes could be explained away, but this… And it hurt. It hurt so much that I couldn’t stand it. I pushed harder, but the awkward angle combined with how much stronger she was than me rendered my struggles futile. My breath caught in my throat and I forced back a sob as the fingers curled around my hip dug in harder.

“Please!” I choked out. And at last, it stopped.  
She laughed and released me, leaving a kiss on the glistening, bloody bruise.  
“You say you don’t want it, George. You tell me you don’t like the pain. But look,” grabbed both of my wrists and pressed them together behind me, firm against the wood. “Your pulse,” she whispered against my ear. “It’s faster than a frightened rabbit’s. You’re not scared of me, are you, my dear boy?” I shuddered against her body, savouring the uncomfortable twist of my arms and shoulder.

This was what I loved, more than anything. I hadn’t lied when I told her I didn’t enjoy pain. No, I wasn’t scared of her, of course I wasn’t. But still. That moment, where the stinging pain of her sucking too hard, teeth scraping against my neck had come together with the rising panic of knowing that I couldn’t push her off, that even if I tried I couldn’t stop it-  
It was perfect.

I breathed heavily as she ran her hands up the front of my body, over the cloth of my shirt. The jacket was pushed off my shoulders and onto the floor, then my tie, undone with a few tugs and flicks.

“Now what should I do with this?” Ideas flooded my mind, most of them impractical or impossible, either due to a want of something to tie anything to, or my own questionable flexibility. Blindfold, maybe, but it was too thin to be of any real use. So that only left restraint.

“Well, George? I asked you a question, did I not?” Oh God. No, I wasn’t going to say it. To be willingly bound was one thing; there was no shame in enjoying that. But to actually ask to be tied up was… I shook my head.

“Really, you must have some idea of what you want. Or are you so useless that you can’t even work that out?” I shook my head even harder.  
“Look at me.” Soft, but still a command. I didn’t.  
“George, look at me.” Firmer this time, but I wouldn’t do it. _Come on, punish me for it._

“George…” And then a hand was gripping my chin, forcing my head up. Her thigh pushed harder against me and I whimpered. I was so wet I was convinced it must have soaked through my trousers.  
“You will do as I tell you, my dear, and you will be punished for your insolence.” I nodded meekly.  
“Yes, Peter.” Her mouth softened, as did the grip on my chin. Bending down, she kissed the side of my mouth.  
“Now tell me: What is it you want me to do with this tie?” I swallowed hard, and closed my eyes.

“Please,” I whispered, “my wrists. Tie them up.” She smirked, petting my hair.  
“Well done, dearest. That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” Another kiss, and then, “Turn around.”  
I did, and exhaled sharply as my hands were pulled behind my back and the strip of dark blue silk wound around my wrists. When she was done, I tugged at it, just to see what leeway I had. Nothing. There was no slide from the fabric, no room. My wrists were bound securely together, the delicate insides rubbing against each other and the tie.

Once more, her body towered over mine, but this time she was pressed tight against my back. She flicked open the top three buttons of my shirt, then bought her hands to rest under my covered breasts, cupping them. My head fell back against her chest as her fingers drew circles around my nipples, never quite touching but getting smaller and smaller. Her nails scraped the dark pebbled circles around them, and I groaned in frustration, then gasped when she brushed across my chest, just catching the tips of both hardened buds. They strained against the shirt, small and clearly defined. I was so sensitive there, and even the gentlest graze against them sent sparks through my stomach.

“You will be punished for your earlier disobedience, dear.” Her nails scratched over my nipples and I pushed up into the air, desperate. “You will be bent over the desk and spanked.” I nodded eagerly as she rubbed her thumbs over the protruding nubs.

“Oh God, yes. Peter, please.” This was so good, but her hand hitting the sensitive skin of my arse would be even better. With one hand holding my bound wrists and the other on the back of my neck, she pushed me down until my cheek pressed against cold wood. Then the hands were at my belt.

“You’ll be taking this bare, I think, George. Let the message really sink in.” The leather belt was pulled out and left on the desk, my trousers pulled from my hips. Kneeling down, my shoes were unlaced and slid off, then my socks. Finally, my trousers were cast into a corner of the room and I was bent over the desk in nothing but a shirt and panties while she remained fully clothed, still in her jacket. Hands trailed up my calves and braced against my thighs while she licked, nibbled and sucked at the sensitive backs if my knees. They would have bucked from under me had she not been supporting me. Every flick of her tongue made me wetter than the last, and when her teeth scraped my inner thigh while a palm rested against the silk of my knickers, I knew I wouldn’t last long. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the fabric where it met the hollow between thigh and groin.

“Panties, George? Really?” I pressed down urgently against her palm, but she gave me a sharp slap on the hip. A warning not to move. And then they were sliding down my legs and crumpling under the desk, and I was exposed to her.  
A palm moved over my arse, promising in that direction but never quite dipping between my parted legs.

“Now, what to punish you with? How about the belt, George, do you think you deserve that?” She picked it up, and let the leather end tease my skin, flicking the worn end between my thighs so it brushed against my parted lips. I gasped, and she smirked as the leather came away wet.

“You don’t certainly don’t seem opposed to the idea, Gideon. Is that it? You want the feel of leather striking your skin, striping your backside?” We’d thought about it, of course. All those stories with George or Peter bending over for the cane or taking a strap to the palms… It was hard not to think about. But we had both agreed that it would be too much. The next time she touched me, it was with her fingers alone.

“I think I’ll be using my hand this time, dear. Prepare yourself.”  
And that was all the warning I got before her palm collided with my arse in a sharp _smack_. I jolted forward and my mouth fell open. Fuck, that stung.

 _Smack_. Her hand came down again, on the underside this time. _Smack_ , over the first, still stinging spot. I gasped, and braced myself. Her hand rested on my flesh and I tensed, expecting her to pull away and the next blow to fall. But she didn’t. Instead her fingers stroked me, soothing the heated skin and calming until I relaxed under her palm.

 _Smack_. I really did cry out, from shock more than pain. Now the blows came fast and hard, striking the reddened skin over and over. By the fourteenth slap I was biting down on my lip, determined not to yell again. Eleven after that, and I had given up. The squeals and shouts spilled freely from my throat. The stinging heat was almost unbearable. When I had lost count of how many times her hand had connected with my arse and my voice was hoarse, I finally gave in and surrendered my remaining pride.

“Please,” my voice cracked. _Smack_.  
“Please,” I repeated. “Peter, stop.”  
 _Smack_.  
“Peter, really, I can’t- no more. Please.” I was close to tears, breath hitching.  
 _Smack_. I let out a strangled sob when her hand rested against me.

“Hush, dear. That’s it. It’s all over.” I could have cried with relief. She stroked my neck while I gasped for breath, still bent across the table and shaking. We stayed like that even after my panting subsided. With a hand on my lower back and one on my neck, I couldn’t be sure if she was trying to comfort me or hold me down. When I tried to stand and face her, I got my answer. My cheekbone collided with hard wood.

“Did I tell you to stand, George? Did I say you could move? Answer me, Gideon.”  
“No,” I breathed. “No, you didn’t.”  
“That’s right, I didn’t. And it would be such a shame if I had to punish you again, my dear.” She pinched my hot flesh gently; a reminder of what she could do. I shuddered at the new flare of pain shooting through me.  
“Unless you want me to hurt you?” Mocking, with a hint of threat. I shook my head desperately.  
“Then stay where I leave you.” And one hand trailed between my legs, brushing the parted lips of my cunt. I was so wound up that even that slight contact made my whole sex pulse, pushing her fingers scant millimetres further. But it was enough. But it was enough.

“You’re soaking wet.” She said, and behind the smirking derision I could hear the wonder in her voice. “So turned on, by being exposed and spanked, no less! I haven’t even touched you, yet it’s dripping down my fingers.” I clenched my eyes shut, grateful that she couldn’t see how flushed my face was.

“Please, Peter. I want- I need you, so much.” I groaned. She was right, I was drenched. I could feel the sticky slipperiness between my legs, itching as it spilled over. I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on before; I was aching for release.

“Please what, my dear boy? What is it that you require from me?” Her calmness was excruciating. With the suit still in place, I had no way of knowing if she was enjoying it as much as I.

“God, Peter. Anything. Your tongue, your fingers, I don’t care. Just fuck me!”  
Two fingers rubbed at my entrance, and I tried to push down onto the, but the arm across my back still kept me in place. The slid inside, just ever so slightly. Penetrating me with her fingertips and teasing my entrance. Every time they went a little deeper, I dared to hope that she would push into me fully, fuck me properly. But she didn’t.

“Peter,” I whimpered. “You have to fuck me. I’m begging you, fuck me.” There was a pause when she withdrew entirely and I was horribly, completely empty.  
Then _thank fuck_ her index and middle fingers pushed deep inside of me, her thumb extending as straining to brush against my clit. I pushed back to meet the smooth pad of her thumb just as she curled her fingers down. I gasped as the small, sensitive area inside of me was rubbed against and the rough side of her thumb glazed over my clit. Her fingers stroked me from inside, rubbing and pressing while the thumb circled the small, hard tangle of nerves outside of me, the circles getting smaller and smaller and the pressure growing. Soon, it was too much. The burning knot behind my clit got hotter and tighter until I was teetering on the brink. She pushed into me one, twice, thrice, and I tumbled over the edge, clenching around her fingers with a soft cry.

My legs collapsed from under me, and she held me upright, cradling me to her chest. We moved across the room and onto the bed, her half carrying me. My legs were shaking and I felt strangely boneless. She sat me down and undid the buttons of my shirt, stroking over my chest then pushing it off, onto the floor. I sat listlessly as she undressed to a vest and boxers, then got into the bed, tugging me beside her. Suddenly, I felt strangely self-conscious considering what we had just done, and climbed under the sheets. She sat against the headboard, but I lay on my side, knees tucked to my chest and head against her thigh. She took a pillow and put it on her lap, then moved my head onto it. We lay in silence while she caressed my hair, cheek, neck. And back again.

“Did I hurt you?” Her voice cut the quiet, with only a hint of a tremor. Her fingers circled the bruise on my neck.  
“Yes, but it felt good.” I said quietly. “I liked it.” From the corner of my eye, I could see her nod.  
“I thought you did. But then sometimes you looked like you were on the verge of tears and I wondered if maybe I had gone to far. But you didn’t stop me, so I assumed that-“  
“It was perfect.” She nodded, and I felt her relax. Her hand started moving again, rubbing patterns against my temple. The motion was soothing and all my limbs ached dully. My eyelids felt heavy, and closed gently. Warm and curled up against her with my head in her lap, I was content just to drift, enjoying the languid movements of her hand in my hair.  
“You were beautiful, you know. I’ve never seen anyone so responsive. It felt good.” I struggled to discern words in the haze, and meaning flittered out of my reach.  
“Good,” I yawned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. “That’s good.” And it was.


End file.
